So this saga of travelling to the 1988 Amnesty International Human Rights Now! concert in Harare, Zimbabwe, is coming to an end. After a night of partying (Part 8) it was time to return home.
The Eastern Highlands
The Sunday morning saw our party break up and people go their separate ways. My partner Janet and I had driven up with our friend Bruce in his car. Now it was time to hit the road again.
The 1,200 km back to Johannesburg, South Africa was just too much to take in one go. Let's face it, we were still quite frazzled from the concert and all the partying and drinking that went with it. So we headed for a National Park in the Vumba mountains near the Mozambique border. The area is known as the Eastern Highlands. It has a cooler climate than the rest of Zimbabwe and is lush and beautiful.
The camp was just off the tar road, down through a narrow dirt road. At the gate, the guard saluted us with a great big beaming smile. We realised exactly why he was so happy when we filled in the register: we were the first visitors in many years!
The place was spotless. Even the outside water pipes were gleaming. Clearly, not having any visitors had not deterred them keeping the place spick and span.
That evening we went for dinner at a beautiful old hotel, high up in the mountains with magnificent views. I had been there many years before and nothing had changed. Except that the wine we were offered with dinner was Zimbabwean. Yes, that's right. A sub-tropical country making wine. Actually, it wasn't too bad but we wouldn't be ordering a case of the stuff to take home.
Goats Do Roam
The next morning, feeling a lot more refreshed we took on the final leg of the journey to Johannesburg. Once out of the Highlands the temperature soared to probably well over 40º C. It was difficult to bear the heat outside of the car. It was pretty hot in the car too, even with the aircon blasting.
The road was long and straight. It shimmered in the heat. As usual, we were listening to great music, loudly. Of course, some of it was older music but the recent albums of artists like Talking Heads, U2, Traveling Wilburys, Crowded House, Toni Childs, Tom Petty and Midnight Oil were on the playlist. The latter's Beds Are Burning was playing everywhere in Zim.
We took turns in driving. It was my turn on this long hot road and we were doing some high speeds. The road goes through tribal areas and there are no fences, so we had to be careful. In the distance, I saw some goats crossing the road. When you're doing those kinds of speed it takes quite a distance to slow down. I had the car down to a manageable 20 or 30 km/hr when we neared the goats.
The other side of the road was clear of them so I turned onto it. Just then a goat dashed across and THUMP!
We stopped nearby to inspect the car for damage (not much). The poor goat was lying vaguely kicking on the side of the road. Just then we noticed local tribesmen rushing down the hill toward us. There was only one thing to do: get in the car and get the hell out of there. We could see them gathered in the road shaking their fists at us in the distance.
How Can We...
We stopped off at the Gonarezhou National Park to find some shade, food and drinks. It was just unbearably hot. Then fairly refreshed we headed for the border at Beit Bridge and got through without much fuss.
A few hundred km further, in the middle of nowhere, a large road sign was on fire. There was no discernable cause. So I had to ask the question:
HOW CAN WE DRIVE WHEN OUR SIGNS ARE BURNING?
And that, dear reader, was the trip. I hope you enjoyed this ramble down memory lane: what memories!